


Abyssinia

by Val_Creative



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, Belly Rubs, Big Gay Mobsters, Bittersweet, Comfort/Angst, Dancing and Singing, Domestic Fluff, Drag Queens, Drug Abuse, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gay Bar, Impregnated After A One Night Stand, Interracial Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Pampering, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pregnant in Times of War/Turmoil/Danger, Queer Themes, Religious Discussion, Romance, Second Trimester, Side Effects, Slang, Weird pregnancy cravings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Cliff 'Knuckles' Sullivan finds himself looking after a famous, handsome performer at The Lilac.





	Abyssinia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArgylePirateWD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/gifts).



*

Cliff Sullivan didn't consider himself a God-fearing man. God had no dealings with bullets or betrayals or dollar bills.  
  
Most of his trigger men referred to him as ' _Knuckles_ ' after seeing their boss shatter James ' _Mighty_ ' Jones's nose with one furious punch to the face. Cliff's hand stayed broken and bandaged up for weeks.

He never told anyone why Jones deserved it. Too risky. Nobody likes to talk about the existence of pansy clubs.  
  
"This is one of the establishments we're in charge of, you hear," Cliff explains to his newest associates.

He pushes aside the velvet, indigo curtain leading to bar. Unlike the frequenters, in their medium blue and cream jackets, with padded shoulders and peak lapels, Cliff and his men always came in wearing double-breasted suits over monogrammed shirts, platinum rings on thumbs and forefingers and grey felt fedoras with wide, lilac ribbon.

"The money flowin' in goes to their pockets, and also ours seein' as we look after the grounds. Too many coppers not understandin' how this works and hassle 'em."  
  
Glittering spotlights hit the center-stage, as groups of men laugh and hold each other's hands.

Black silk heels. Suede, black gloves fitted to the wrists dazzling with gem-encrusted bracelets. Cotton evening dresses and flared skirts. One of the men prances around, darkly bearded, smoking a cigar full-length and adjusting his corset with a padded Lastex bra and six suspenders to hold up the pink, sheer stockings to his thick thighs.  
  
"Where's the dames at?" Cliff's man asks, seeming nonplussed.  
  
"Ain't no dames in these parts, kid."  
  
There's one performer — greatly admired by the others, charismatic and loud — singing dramatically with a falsetto, taking a bow as the crowded front row claps and blows kisses. Dark skin, dark eyes. Cliff orders his trigger man to buy himself a drink, heading for the low-stage.

"Marty, watch it," he says in disapproving, clasping his hand and helping Marty step down in those high heels. Marty's grin widens. He's a looker in a dark green wool tailored dress, his plump lips colored brightly. His natural, close-clipped hair smelling like pomade as Cliff's mouth hovers fondly to his temple.  
  
"Did you bring the pickles and chocolate truffles—"  
  
"—Martin, we're closing up," one of the stagehands interrupts, nodding respectfully to Cliff.

Marty revels in the attention briefly, patting the other man's cheek and shooing him away, finally leaving them alone.  
  
"They're in the dressing room," Cliff answers, after a minute of silence, placing a hand over Marty's protruding belly and rubbing softly.

A faint, insistent kick.

He's not pregnant enough to go into labor any time soon, but Marty's ankles go sore and weak, and his balance has been off. Doesn't know what to expect really. Neither of them. They hardly started as friends — Cliff held prejudices against _fairies_ and _queers_ , despite being one, and inspected this pansy club and bar out of a sense of longing. Out of fear, everyone turned their back and whispered about him being a mobster. A _killer_.

All of them except Marty.  
  
Insults rolled off of Marty's back like water, no matter what or who said them. He only smiled and bought Cliff the top-shelf whiskey and invited the other man upstairs. Cliff turned down dipping into an ounce of cocaine Marty's roommate kept hidden.

The rest of the night filling with soft, eager noises and encouragement and Marty's fingers touching over Cliff's pale, naked skin. Marty getting fucked against the chiffonier, moaning and swearing and bent forward with his hands flattening to the bricks when Cliff thrust roughly behind him. Marty's oil-slopping rim squeezed on his cock and accepted the hot cum gushing deep inside him.

Now they've got a baby boy on the way.  
  
(Or at least, Marty _insists_ it's a boy. Cliff wouldn't mind a girl. She's gonna learn how to load a rod anyway.)  
  
_"You're a doll, Clifford."_  
  
Cliff mutters good-naturedly, escorting him past the velvet, indigo curtains. His fingers massage his dark, sweaty nape. Cliff's lips seal over his, kissing and sucking gently. He relaxes against Marty, murmuring out, feeling their flesh bitten red, secure in the circle of his lover's arms.  
  
They're not out of the woods just yet.  
  
Not from the law, or Cliff's men, or any rival gang.

Men aren't supposed to desire company with men, according to God's word and the church, and yet — Cliff has never feared no wrath from no God.

God gave him Marty. It's _all_ blessings.

*

**Author's Note:**

> You! Hey you! Thanks very much for coming here and reading! 💜💙💜💙 And thank you to the July Mpreg 2019 mods for letting me participate! Hoping my giftee enjoys this! You let me mix and match tags for the prompts and I really liked this 1930s plot concept I saw once in a tagset. Got to do a bunch of research in a short amount of time. And the title is 1930s slang for "I'll be seeing you" and you are supposed to say it fast and then it makes sense. Ahaha.


End file.
